


You Were There (The Colour of the World Changed)

by Milotzi



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Honeymoon, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22895155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milotzi/pseuds/Milotzi
Summary: A story of lust and love over the years.Spellwood as it should have been rather than as it was.In this AU Faustus is older than Zelda by a good bit, and her brother is also older than her.
Relationships: Faustus Blackwood/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 28
Kudos: 62





	1. Trying for a Spare

**Author's Note:**

> Complete.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are on their way to Rome.

Zelda sleeps the happy sleep of those exhausted by just the right amount of pleasure given and taken, as the night train rocks their slightly too narrow berth. 

Her mouth is open, and she is snoring ever so gently, a persistent sound that makes her husband both happy and annoyed enough to keep him awake. 

He pushes her over cautiously, she moans and resettles, and her breathing becomes quiet and regular again.

His wife. Not his first but the first one he chose for his own pleasure and hers, and no other reason.

The One.

His.

As he is hers.

***

When does a relationship begin? Is it the first time you meet someone, or is it later, when a chance encounter changes everything?

***

He remembers the first time he set eyes on her because he was the oldest altar boy, and her brother Edward was the youngest, when her parents brought her to the coven to receive her first unholy blessing, when she was but a few months old. Her very disappointed parents, since they had been trying for a spare for a while. He remembers this so well because she was such a chubby morsel of a babe with such a sweet smile, which had led to Father Duggan suggesting there and then that it might be a better choice to offer her up as an unholy sacrifice so that Satan would grant a boy to be born next. 

Apparently, that day, Lady Duggan had failed to provide her husband with the Sabbath roast he so often held up to them as the one thing that made marriage a bearable proposition for an unholy priest whose carnal appetites quite obviously ran in a different direction.

He still remembers the tantrum Edward threw when it became clear that none of them would dine on sweet baby flesh.

He still remembers being somewhat disappointed himself but despising Edward for showing his gluttony so openly once a different decision had been taken.

Not by the Spellmans, but by Lady Duggan, who had taken the babe out of her husband's arms and announced that this little one was born for greatness before the Dark Lord, a jewel on the crown of hell that would shine brightly in the everlasting darkness of hell itself.

What greatness, he had thought, and had felt a stab of envy, at this little girl being singled out so. Even if it was only by Lady Duggan, who was a fat old witch who drank too much of the altar wine that was supposed to be mixed with the blood of sacrifices.

But she was right, Lady Duggan. Zelda was destined for greatness.

As an anti-pope's wife, as he now knows. And himself the antipope. Acting anti-pope but what can go wrong. What greater honour could a witch aspire to. What greater joy to a husband than to bestow that honour on his wife. The One.

Faustus reaches around his sleeping wife, and lets his other hand glide down her bum and thighs and up her inner thighs. His fingers stroke the entrance of her nether realm, that bush that burns so red and bright in daylight. His mouth seeks her neck and in between nibbling and licking, he whispers her name, again and again.

When she wakes, and snuggles her sweet bum against his erection, and whispers his name back to him, he uses his fingers to dive in deeper, while he hums her name, again and again, drumming the rhythm with one hand, while gently stroking her with the other. 

When she comes for the first time, his prick is so hard it nearly hurts, and he asks her to turn round. He likes taking her from the back, but he also loves looking into her eyes, and suck her nipples between deep kisses.

"Let's try for a spare, my jewel," he whispers.


	2. As Every Witch Before Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda's musings on marriage, pain, power and lust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully not too many typos. Will eradicate as I find them. Hope you enjoy this second chapter!

_Trying for a spare._

How typical of a warlock to put what surely is the most enjoyable aspect of being married in those terms.

He has a lot to learn.

And yet Zelda cannot find fault with what he does and how he does it. He has learnt that part of being a husband well, from previous wives, presumably, but also from her, his mistress, his fiancée, his new wife.

It touches her how this alpha male has stopped himself again and again, in moments when she has not necessarily wanted him to, to ask whether what he was doing found her approval. "How does that sound?" he asks when he suggests a new delicious form of sweet torture, or a form of copulation they have not yet tested together. It struck her at some stage that he was being devious, luring her into a sense of false security, since they always ended up doing what he suggested, but his agreeableness and eagerness to involve her in his pet projects for the Unholy Churches and the Academy have put her suspicions to rest. 

Indeed, Faustus has proved to be a heady mix of broad-shouldered domination and sweet submission to her every whim, one that has kept her on her toes at all times, eager to please and to be pleased, to take and to give. She has never encountered such straightforward admissions of wishing to not only dominate but also be submissive at different times, and even thinking of what use she could put the whip that lies at the bottom of the bed to in a while makes her want to wake him there and then.

But then there is something so sweet in how much trust he has placed in her, his wife, by falling asleep beside her, deeply, not the half awake, half asleep state that allows a witch or warlock to both rest and scan their environs, in case of attack. It is the first time she can watch him sleep, and there is something entirely adorable about how is lying on his back, quite exhausted, arms and legs stretched out, even though it limits the space she herself has. Only female siblings share bedrooms ordinarily. By insisting they share a berth, and later a hotel bedroom, and, when they return, a bed in a shared home, Faustus has made clear he views their relationship as entirely different from his previous marriages. Indeed, it will be different from what they have had so far, any sexual encounter being limited to a specific place and time, with clear boundaries, and no signs of affection before or after.

Of course, she misunderstood him when he explained how what they had was special and that, if she wished, he would overlook her young relatives' abominable behaviour during the ceremony, and she still feels embarassed how she could have made the mistake to walk next to him, indeed, a little ahead of him, when they left the Academy in view of the entire coven and visiting dignitaries. How unpleasant being admonished by him in front of her family and her coven had felt but she should have known better than to presume that any deference he showed her in private could be on public display, especially when it is as yet unknown how the ancient guard are going to respond to the High Priest of Greendale seizing control. Satan bless him, and her. 

Warlocks rule the world but witches rule warlocks, as long as they do so from the second row, her grandmother used to whisper into her ears whenever Edward had been mean to her or Hildy.

Faustus is not like her father or her grandfather, that is for sure. He has been generous in granting every favour she asked for her family. He has left a number of decisions to her. She is quite certain that, although he has not said so in so many words, he sees her as his equal, even if showing this openly is not an option in the society they live in. As yet. 

How sweet and pleasant her punishment was, in the privacy of their compartment. After he had publicly refused to even look at her or talk to her for the first leg of their journey, just to ensure each and every of their travel companions got the message. His voice whispering sweet nothings into her ear while his whip was teaching her the obedience due to a warlock by his wife according to lore and tradition.

Faustus Blackwood, the guardian of Satanic tradition. Who has just now climaxed while whispering her name, again and again, and calling her his sweet demoness, his unholy succuba, his queen of hell.

Cautiously, so as not to awake her sleeping lord and master, she reaches to her behind, and feels the welds his whip has left there. Yes, she could make them go away in an instant, but she enjoys the lingering presence reminding her of their mutual humiliation and suffering in exquisite extasy before they made up in other ways, ways enhanced immeasurably by the stings every touch of his hands on her bottom caused. She smiles at the sweet revenge she will extract with the cat-o-nine-tails when it is her turn to hear his Satanic confession, as is her privilege now, and not just something he may or may not ask of her. Now that she is an Unholy Church leader's wife and not just a night maiden. 

She can't help but smile. Theirs is truly a marriage of pain and pleasure, the kind made in hell, the kind she has been seeking for all her life, and not just for the greater glory of her family name. Poor Hilda, whose stupid sentimentality could never grasp what is meant by a truly Satanic marriage. _Love Faustus_ , indeed. What an offensively sappy term for something that is so much more than mortals or sentimental old maids can dream of. 

Especially when it is between a witch like herself and a warlock of Faustus's status and stature. She might have considered another high priest worthy of her time and efforts but Faustus isn't just any high priest, or any warlock. He is entirely himself, and just smelling him, sweaty, drenched in his juices and hers, and yet so sweet, like a babe, makes her want to wake him, and be punished for it. Not yet. Let him sleep. Warlocks aren't as hardy as witches, whatever they may believe. And Faustus will need all the dark power he can muster to satisfy herself and be the superior leader of the Unholy Churches to everyone else at the same time. So let him sleep. Her sweet babe. Her honeycake. Her bel- . She stops herself in time; she must really get Hilda's nonsense out of her head. Power, pain and lust. Yes.

_Trying for a spare._ Hah. Warlocks. 

Zelda knows herself to be superior to him in many ways, although she respects his greater experience and knowledge of unholy matters. She also knows herself to be more devious. Of course she has made sure she will not conceive just now; yes, a child would be fine, but right now the twins are quite young, matters in the Unholy Church are unsettled, and she'll be blessed if she fights their battles for recognition by the counsel and their coven while pregnant. She'd be a fool to believe Faustus would not seek pleasure elsewhere if she was too tired to look after his needs. No, having children will have to wait, until everything has worked out and she has made quite sure Faustus knows that no other female can offer him the scope and variety of pleasures she can. To ensure he understands her kind of monogamy is not the kind in which any of his (or her) needs go unfulfilled.

Having lustfully tangled with sex demons as a younger witch comes with the bonus reward of knowing much more than any ordinary witch; knowledge that she will let Faustus discover as his own, as knowledge to be shared with her, rather than the other way round.

She has always thought Eve a fool for not letting Adam think he was the one who discovered and shared the fruit of knowledge with her, rather than the other way round. Zelda thinks how easy such a deception would have been, and how much better it would have been for witchkind.

But maybe, she thinks, as she, too, finally falls asleep again, understanding that this was the case was possible only after Eve tasted and shared that bitter fruit, and not before.


	3. A Subtle Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years later. Things have not been going as planned but life has gone on, and they have been happy enough even if their ambitions have not been fulfilled. Then Hecate changes the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not where I was originally going with this, but this is what suggested itself. I hope it works for you if you have been enjoying the first two chapters.

Hecate. That's who she is. And nothing is as it was before.

When he first read that name on the page that prophesied the subjugation of warlocks by the Goddess of the Moon, he had torn it from the book he had taken from Young Zelda's hand, had crumpled it, thrown it into the fire and forbidden both his mentee and his sisters to ever take another look at such arcane nonsense. Ever again.

Of course, Zelda never bothered to obey him, not then, not after she promised to do so before the Dark Lord, not now.

But Zelda, despite her heathenish streak and love of the moon, despite those unholy sessions she has persuaded him to hold, both of them in the nude and stroked by the yellow light from above, isn't a goddess. He loves her dearly, now more so than ever, but even though he has come close to it, he has never completely given in to her.

A wife is what she wanted to be, he reminded her often, and she had better behave like one.

She has never quite submitted to his will, but neither has he to hers, and over the years they have found a balance, between ups and down. 

Rather like the moon, their marriage has been, waxing and waning.

Oh, yes, sweet surrender, sometimes, each to the other, but never completely, fully. 

Not like this, his surrender a moment ago, that magic moment that changed the world.

He knows he has been vanquished for good, and nothing that will happen will bring the old Faustus back.

He has known this since the moment when he saw her and when his heart nearly stopped beating. When he looked, and there she was. Hecate.

Never, he had sworn.

And look at him now. He has been subjugated.

Two blue eyes like bright stars in a yellowish round face, a moon crowned by tufts of black curly hair, one hand curled around his finger, the other around his heart, squeezing it hard. Never before has he seen another being so like him and so unlike him at the same time.

"Hecate." When he speaks her name, he knows he is right. 

He does not care that his universe, no, his and Zelda's universe has tumbled in two.

Nothing will be the same. True will be false, and false will be true. 

All will be well.

***

Zelda is exhausted. 

It is a different kind of exhaustion from the one she has come to expect from married life, from the many times they have argued about religious practice, about daily routines, about the way he or she acts in public or in private, about his failed ambitions or hers, or simply about anything at all, because as it turns out, this is what they do. It is also a different kind of exhaustion from the happy sense of release after make-up sex, which is also something they do. Which, eventually, has brought her to this, this other exhaustion.

Strange, she thinks, with detachment. As if someone had put her under a Caligari spell and then forgotten to tell her what to do.

She thought she'd be happy, over the moon, beside herself with joy.

But she feels an emptiness, as if something had been taken from her that cannot be returned, a fear that will not express itself, and pain. Still pain.

She thought it would be gone by now, but it isn't.

She has hardly dared look, or touch. So strange to see and hold but not to feel. Not to feel anything but exhaustion.

"Hecate," he says, with that tone of voice that shows he has decided. 

"Hecate," she whispers, and it sounds right to her too. She is glad they will not fight over this. 

But because Zelda is Zelda and cannot help herself, she murmurs, "Hecate Luna. Though her face won't be yellow for longer than a fortnight. They will call her moon face and harrow her when she turns 16. And it will be our fault."

She tries to smile at him, but tears come to her eyes. She hates being weak in front of him, who believes in strength, a response she knows more than she feels.

He isn't angry, it seems, but strokes her face and hair. "Hecate Luna Blackwood," he agrees, and kisses Zelda's hand "the beautiful daughter of a most beautiful mother. And woe betide any that would wish her harm." And there is a strange warmth in his eyes, and in his smile.

Zelda closes her eyes, and wishes he was not there, nor that little witch that has so clearly unmanned him. Maybe if they left her alone, she could rest and feel something. Anything.

At this moment, Hecate Luna's face crumples up even more than before, makes a funny hiccuping sound, and then Zelda, who has looked after many a babe, is surprised by how loud the wailing coming from such a small body can be.

The child her husband is holding, yellow and black like an angry wasp, is screaming her heart out, her face turning a darker shade of yellow, a miniature version of her father when he has his moments; it is with a detached sense of wonder that Zelda realises that Faustus is not going to be angry himself but that he is holding their daughter towards her, in supplication and, oh wonder, with tears in his eyes.

She will fail them. It will break her heart if she cannot do to her own child what she has been doing to other witches' babes, so she hesitates.

But then she takes the child, because having Hilda return to the room and taking over her babe would be worse than trying and failing. 

Without even thinking about it, she rubs the babe's back and settles herself into a different position so both of them are more comfortable, moves her nightshift aside and then starts suckling the child, as she has suckled so many babes not her own. 

Somewhere in the middle of this process, something lifts. 

Maybe it happens when the blessed unholy silence has descended, interrupted only by the soft kah-sound of the babe swallowing, or it happens when she observes her babe's hand, so like a miniture version of Faustus's, curl and relax, or when she strokes her daughter's dark curly hair, so like her father's, or when she looks over to Faustus, first tense then relaxed, unmanned by emotion, yet more manly than ever before, leaning against the wardrobe. At some such moment during that first feed, suddenly, Zelda begins to feel, and it is such an overwhelming feeling of happiness that finally engulfs her in a big blue wave that she immediately forgets when exactly it began. The world isn't grey anymore, but blue, a dark strong blue like the summer sky, like her husband's eyes, and her daughter's.

"Hello, Hecate Luna," she whispers, "It is good to meet you."

She looks into eyes that she swears look back at her and see her through and through.

Then she looks over at Faustus, her husband, her sparring partner, her lover, her child's father, and it is as if they were seeing each other for the very first time. 

"Of course," Zelda thinks. "Now we know."

And all is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it is my theory that witches can suckle babes any time, so Zelda as a midwife and nurse has suckled a babe before. Just never her own.


	4. Dreams that I dreamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lust and love, nearly twenty years on.

"You," he moans as he pushes his prick into her, "You. You would have ..."

The orgies he would have held as anti-pope is a topic he likes to dwell on in graphic detail when the mood strikes him.

She never learns what he imagines she would have contributed to that particular entanglement of unholy priests and nuns he was describing because the thought so excites him that he cannot hold himself back and comes with a loud groan and a snort. Since it is their anniversary, they have been drinking the final batch of the bottles of expensive red wines they stole from the antipope's wine cellar, which explains the snort, and that he falls asleep as soon as he is done.

Zelda does not mind. She likes sex slow these days, and when she is ready, she will wake him, and make him do what she would have made him do if it was her who had been crowned anti-pope, in a Satanic orgy of her liking. She climbs out of bed, and refills her glass with what is left of the Barolo and lights a cigarette. The taste of tobacco and the velvety chocolate taste of the wine are a perfect mix. And Faustus. She does no tell him because he is vain enough as it is, but she loves her husband's smell when he has been active, his after shave and his sweat and his general Faustusness still turn her on after all these years. 

She wonders what she will do to him later tonight, candle-wax maybe, or a lick of the long whip, or maybe, she thinks, she will simply let him use that golden tongue of his, while she tells him exactly where and how she would like to be eaten, before she will let him show her and himself that being top lady is a most pleasurable choice.

So is masturbation. Stroking her vulva, while looking at some of her favourite illustrations of Satanic intercourse in their copy of _The Dark Joys of S-E-X_ makes her impatient to proceed, and it is only two cigarettes later that she is ready, and he'd better be, too. 

He snorts again, when she pushes herself against him, and turns around, obviously not quite sure why he is being woken, but a quick bite of his earlobe and a look around their messy bed brings him back to the fact that they are celebrating their anniversary in the damned absence of any offspring, who have been sent off to spend a weekend with Auntie Hilda.

"Hmmm," his hands find her arse and pull her towards him, "You woke me from a wonderful dream. You were riding a bullock, like Europa. And I was the bullock. But the bullock was slow and you had to spurn me on with a stick."

She loves how ever so often their urges coincide. And she loves the funny schoolboy face he makes when he senses her excitement. As if he could not believe his luck, even though they have been enjoying each others' bodies for decades now, and he knows her body nearly as well as she does herself.

"Tell me," he whispers, "tell me what my wife wants me to do to please her." 

And when she smiles despite wanting to look strict, he laughs, and playfully slaps her bottom. 

Zelda laughs, too, and promises revenge.

"You look radiant, Zelda."

"Compliments will not save you." She laughs again. "But you may kiss me, and I may kiss you back before we get down to business".

So they do, and then one thing leads to another, just as she thought it would, only this time it is she who comes with a groan and a snort, twice, before he finally does, too.

***

The next morning, they have breakfast in bed. Black coffee and croissants. Then she watches him shave, and massages his back before she, too washes, and gets dressed. 

It is Monday, and, on her way to the Academy, she will pick up Hecate from Hilda's. 

She will be whistling all morning because, while her body feels tired as heaven, she feels thoroughly good about herself, her life and her marriage. Both Hilda and Hecate will pretend not to know that she only whistles when she has had been laid, and she knows both will feel better about her whistling because they will rightly assume that the sex she has had was with her husband on the occasion of their anniversary and not a random teacher or sex demon that they might have occasion to suspect to be her occasional lovers. Neither would understand or accept that any orgies with third parties she might indulge in take place to fulfil her husband's deepest desires as well as her own.

Zelda loves her daughter and her sister but finds them narrow-minded when it comes to her and Faustus.

Before she leaves, Faustus inspects whether her collar is correct. He does so every morning, these days. After all he has tied that particular knot over that particular collar for hundreds of years himself, and he can recognize a good tie knot when he sees it. He can also recognize a good high priest when he sees her, he tells her, and kisses her good-bye for the day.

These days, it is Zelda who runs the school Hecate attends and who offers spiritual guidance and unholy rites to the coven, while Faustus potters in the garden, defrocked for possession of asatanic scrolls, and a paper stipulating the Dark Lord may be no more than a representation of the dark side of the moon. 

She does not believe for one moment he believes what he has written but knows there is no point in suggesting he should retract. Or that Hecate might be more forgiving of having been catapulted from first girl to a joke through his crazy notions if she at least thought he was serious about them. But Faustus and his favourite daughter are equally stubborn, and he seems to be as done with worshipping the Dark Lord as Hecate is determined to succeed where her father failed, and rise to the highest ranks of their Church. So strange, she thinks, how alike they are, even in their differences. At least, she thinks, they have started to have small polite conversations again, for her sake rather than each other's, she assumes. 

Faustus hums and haws a bit, then pulls a small booklet from his pocket. It's a handwritten manuscript of the Seven Secret Ranks of the Unholy Hierarchy by Anon, carrying a stamp of the Unholy Vatican Library. 

"It might be useful reading for her," he murmurs. "But don't say it's from me or she won't read it. After all you might have been the one who stole it on our honeymoon, not I."

Then he leans in to kiss her once more, and although she is late already and they should feel sated after their night of fornication, she feels moved to kiss him back as if she had not been kissed since that visit to Rome. 

She will be very late. 

***

When Zelda is gone, Faustus pours himself another cup of coffee. He will, he decides, split his day between the garden and his library, in which gardening books are threatening to overpower tomes of arcane Satanic and mystic teachings. 

Yes, he thinks, the roses need cutting back, and the arguments in Welburn's article on nature worship need to be compared to Franklin's. 

So strange, he thinks a little later, as he lifts the garden scissors to cut off some heads that need removing as if they were incalcitrant coven members, that after all his plotting and striving for power and high positions, all his dreams have come to this. 

And that he is content, and would not wish anything to be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the story is complete, I see it has ended up in a different place than I originally thought it would. But, on the whole, I, like Faustus, am content. And I hope those of you who read all of it are, too. xxx

**Author's Note:**

> YOU WERE THERE (Noel Coward)
> 
> You were there  
> I saw you and my heart stopped beating  
> You were there  
> And in that first enchanted meeting  
> Life changed its tune  
> The stars, the moon came near to me  
> Dreams that I dreamed  
> Like magic seemed to be clear to me, dear to me  
> You were there  
> Your eyes looked into mine and faltered  
> Everywhere  
> The colour of the whole world altered  
> False came true  
> My universe tumbling too  
> The earth became heaven for you were there


End file.
